James G. Piatt

James earned his BS and MA from California State PolytechnicUniversity, and a doctorate from Brigham Young University. He isretired now and spends his summers gardening and sitting along side ariver, listening to jazz, reading, writing, and penning poetry. JohnJames Piatt and Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt two of Dr. Piatt’s relativeswere prolific poets who wrote their poetry in the mid eighteenhundreds. Their poems have influenced much of his style of poetry.

Thoughts of a gentle summer give flight asRains descend, and rinse away the dust andThen ascend to golden mountains of midsummerWhile I listen to a distant cooler drummer,Marching like an urchin that will transcend,The darker seasons and those they offend,

Colorful woven beads of a distant dreamMerge with vestiges of a glimmering time,Leaving golden thoughts of a summer scheme,Lying next to a blazing fire and scents of thyme,Easy conversations, hot tea and scented steam,A brisk song spews from the kettle’s chime.

Colder winds arrive but do not dismay,In the morn of this autumn day, then theHoliday season brings things so gay, andThanksgiving and Christmas not far away,Encumber our nostalgic thoughts so true, andThe cold winter days seem not so blue.

New Year’s Eve

Next year’s resolutions are all done, In the salt box house upon the hill, Even Ould Lang Syne has been sung.

Lovers are blessed under the sun, but In the moonlit night, they are so still, until New year’s resolutions are all done.

Lover’s tales we will never shun, No one alive can speak of them ill, Even Ould Lang Syne has been sung.

Their love, is never to be undone, Nor fade in winds that scream so shrill, New year’s resolutions are all done.

Solemn oaths, they will not shun, They will be true to their vows goodwill, Even Ould Lang Syne has been sung.

There shan’t be sadness overdone, In the salt box house near the flowing rill, New year’s resolutions are all done, Even Ould Lang Syne has been sung.

When I was a young lad, dreaming under the Cherry tree near thecottage by the fen, I was happy without a worry, carefree was I, asthe burnt sun caressed my face, the gentle breeze brushed my hair, thesmile upon my lips was painted, broadly. I was in the heyday of myprincely realm, the leader of pirates, and mighty ships, that floatedin amusement, in swirling summer clouds, above my head.

Those golden days of yesterday are now gone, and the cottage, and fen,mere fading summer memories in an aging, mind. At the mercy of thefourth dimension, my legs no longer leap from mound to mound, no easybreath to run the youthful race. Old memories linger in my mind as Ijourney along another road less traveled, a winter road filled withbarren earth and coldness.

Oh to be young again and run freely amidst flowered paths leading tonew visions in warm and verdant dells filled with songs of birds andwhistling warm winds swirling in hot summers and lazy springs.Carefree and without worries of adult things, without taxing decisionsand demands of labor, I would feel a newness in all matters, and enjoyeven unimportant things.